Non-Eternity
by Annabelle Rae
Summary: Because the how's didn't matter if it meant she'd be with him forever.


**Dedication:** For Cara again, because I just love her from the bottom of my heart. She raised my spirits up when I was really down, and I believe I can never thank her enough. She's one of the awesomest people in the world, and I'd love to meet her someday.

And for Yas, for taking the time to read this. I love youuuuu.

A different writing style from the one I've been accustomed to, and first try on future perspective. Don't kill me. OTL

* * *

Two weeks, three days, ten hours, forty-seven minutes, and fifty-five seconds later, Little Miss Perfect will barge into the shack you have been hiding in. Under normal circumstances, she will have screamed at the sheer hauntedness of the place that has become your refuge, for it is dark and creepy and eerie and cold. It is remote and silent—too silent indeed, that the faintest of sound will seem like a scream to one's ears. But that is what makes you like the place. Here, you are away from the prying eyes of others, from pity, from superciliousness. You are yourself, and nobody can dictate or influence your actions. You do what you do, and nobody will give a flying fuck.

But she will walk to where you are, two weeks, three days, ten hours, forty-eight minutes and twenty-nine seconds from now, and the peace you have been accustomed to will vanish with each of her resounding steps. No longer are you in the company of the rats and lizards and cockroaches alone, who have seen but have not truly seen, who have heard but never truly so. They have seen you and the one with you, but they have never understood.

If they are capable of thinking, it will occur to them that you and your companion are lovers who have escaped from the grasps of society and fled from the scrutiny of others. To them, you are lovers who sought peace, but they are wrong.

And two weeks, three days, ten hours, forty-nine minutes, and sixteen seconds from now, she will see you. And she will scream and cry and curse you. She will thrash and call you names. She will call you a whore, a traitor, a liar, a murderer. The police will enter, and so will your supposedly friends. They will take in the scene in front of them, and look at you with pure loathing. But you have been used to it, and you have been expecting it. She will keep crying as she sits on the floor, and you will laugh bitterly, because they have never been able to understand you. And you can explain why for days, months, years, but they will never hear a thing. They will still see you on the same light, and that cannot be changed.

So you will smirk at them coldly as they look at you in disgust, as Mikan slaps you hard—once, twice, a hundred times, you do not know—and you will laugh at them mockingly as they helplessly stare at your companion. And you will be escorted by the police to goodness knows where, but you won't care. You will be happy for being able to get your revenge, and those looks—of grief, disbelief, and hatred on their faces—are priceless to you.

* * *

Two weeks, four days, ten hours, twenty-two minutes and thirty-one seconds later, you will sit alone in your cell, and you will look back to what happened. You will laugh, and it will echo on your prison cell different words—the reminders of who you truly are.

_"Evil! Evil… vil… vil!"_  
_"Traitor! Traitor… aitor… tor!"_  
_"Murderer! Murderer… derer… rer!"_  
_"Psychotic freak! Freak! Freak! FREAK!"_

And you will toss and turn and cover your ears in a futile attempt to block out the echoes of the truth you have desperately wanted to hide from. But you will still hear the voices in your head, and they will invade every fiber of your being, and will become a part of your system. These words will live in you and define you, and the ghosts of the past will come to haunt you. You will recall past heartbreaks and failures and cases of never-good-enough's and just like that, you will break.

And you will curse everyone and no one at all, and everything and nothing, and you will shout, "I'm not a murderer! She is, she was! S-she stole the-the man I loved. She killed me inside! She stole a-all th-the light a-and h-hope from m-my world, a-and," then your voice will break and you will cry.

And you will remain in that state for a few hours, and upon opening your eyes, the first thing you will see is black. Darkness. The nature of a prison cell. And although once, you have been able to find comfort and solace in darkness, and peace and serenity in silence, the case is different now. It seems to you as though the dark is the reflection of who you are, and the silence a reminder that nobody is there for you.

And there might be creatures in the shadows waiting to strike, and you will never know. Because there is no one, there is nothing, to care about you.

* * *

Three weeks, five days, thirteen hours, nine minutes and two seconds later, you will gain a companion in the cell. And it is none other than Mochiage Katsuya. You are happy with having a living being with you, really, but not for long.

A few talks and you will trust him more than you have trusted anyone in your entire life. A few weeks and you will grow to like him, maybe because he is likable, or maybe because of the situation you two are in, that calls for desperate measures to retain your sanity—which you two have lost unknowingly.

And you will lie beside each other and have sex maybe every night—if it is night; you never truly know, what with the darkness of the cell—and sleep together, with your head on his chest, your hands intertwined. Flesh against flesh, and warmth against warmth.

And it is then that you will feel human again—alive, and not a mere shell of what used to be.

In loving (if that is the right word to be used) and being loved back, you have been able to regain your sanity, along with the guilt when the gravity of what you have done hits you right on the chest.

You will want to forget. You cannot bear to remember how incredibly obsessed you once were that you have done… that, and with the knowledge that it is Mochu that has made you human again, you will distance yourself. No more talks, no more laughter, no more making love. None.

But he does not know that you cry yourself to sleep every night you are not beside him.

* * *

But two months, one week, six days, twelve hours, thirty-four minutes and nineteen seconds later, he will confront you and ask what the fuck is wrong with you. And you will shout at him and blame him for making you human, for making you remember when all you have wanted was to forget. And you will fight and shout and nobody will stop you. And you will turn your back to get as far from him as you can, but he will grab your hand.

And he will stab you. Once. Twice. Thrice.

Like you did to Natsume before.

And as you black out to eternal darkness, you will hear him whisper, "I'm sorry, but I cannot lose you. Not you, too." And then he will laugh a maniacal laughter, because he is mad, maybe ever since, maybe since you started to avoid him. A tear will roll down your cheek, because the one person you have ever trusted is the man to kill you.

It will fucking hurt.

And in the last moment of your life, you will see Natsume Hyuuga's ghost saying, "Now you know how I felt."

* * *

But Sumire Shouda lives in the present, and is unaware of what is in store for her. So now, she settles with cradling the cold, unmoving body of one Natsume Hyuuga, while drowning in his scent and getting intoxicated with however it is that dead people smell like. She holds him in the way that a little child holds her toy, which, ironically, is a good comparison, because toys are unmoving, like the man in her arms.

And she is happy right now, because the how's do not matter when all she wants is to be with the one she claims to love, forever.

**_END_**


End file.
